


At the end of the road II

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [44]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Sith being Sith, and stuff that happened before, cough, mature adult conversations about feelings, spoilers for Nathema arc, yeah right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Turns out Sar’s gut-feeling was right. His absconded lover has found his way back to the coop.Nothing’s quite that simple, of course.





	At the end of the road II

**Author's Note:**

> This is where we progress with a touch of AU because the Nathema ending was a bit much for me. Sorry but I couldn’t save that with canon intact.
> 
> Meals mentioned in this chapter were inspired by pomegrenadier's Ritual Purposes. ; P (I couldn't resist.)

 

 

Turns out Sar’s gut-feeling was right. A year and a day and his spook boyfriend slinks back through his door with his tail between his legs.

There’s some great upheaval about an underground terrorist organization that undermined their base security so completely it’s ridiculous and almost managed to take out their Commander (they’re really starting to make a habit of that, aren’t they?). Mortal danger to the Alliance was averted at the last second because his absconded lover took it upon himself to infiltrate their enemy’s ranks, with or without his own spymaster’s knowledge, cutting all ties for his and their own safety.

Now that’s about what Sar pieces together from the very abridged version of events they’re fed but he’s _imperial._ He can read between the lines. How is this holodrama his life?

Nothing’s quite that simple, of course.

As he has learned from his relatives when he was still small: Coming back, that’s the easy part, even if you have to drag yourself out of a real-life sarlacc to do it. (Great-something-grandmother Shunka says so and Sar isn’t going to contradict her until he has given that a try for himself. It’s on the To-Do list. Under ‘A’ as in ‘avoid at all costs’.)

So, coming back. All you have to do is not die. Fitting yourself into the spaces you left behind when you went out… that’s a different thing.

Theron is struggling. Now that the dust has settled he has to defend his actions to every nerf-herder who thinks they’ve got a claim to his time. Sar barely sees hide or hair from him.

They’re not okay. Not by a long shot. A year of no contact is a year of no contact, no matter the reasons. Add the window dressing of what Theron did in the name of operational security and ‘okay’ is a place they need binoculars to chart. Sar is intimately aware they should have a talk, or _several_ , but he hasn’t pushed.

It’s bad enough watching Theron run the gauntlet. He isn’t sure his lover could stand coming home to an interrogation after a day full of them.

With one of them in a state of perpetual high alert and the other coming off a long-time stint in enemy territory, they can’t even sleep in one bed without risking friendly fire. They’re not used to each other anymore. Theron ever so often testing the waters of Yon’s temper is the icing on the cake. Really, it would be enough without the damned sprinkles, too.

Case in point.

Across from him, Timmns is staring moodily into his lunch. The main dish of the day is a russet coloured broth with dark blue… they’re probably noodles. Going by the texture, it could be algae.

Sar _doesn’t give a fuck_ because he is half sure those glorious bastards in charge of the kitchen have managed to smuggle bloodsoup onto the menu. He can’t be certain because the cook would never admit it and the Force alone knows whose blood is in there, if any.

Who cares! Sar hasn’t had proper vova in _ages_. It’s not quite as good as his mother’s (and the blue worm-noodles are strange as kriff) but it’s decent. Too good for Timmns to be ruining his appetite. At the rate they’re going it’ll get cold. Cold bloodsoup is a better word for clotted gel and it’s shlurping disgusting, with or without chewy mystery seafood.

_Ugh._

Giving his resolution to ignore his co-worker’s shenanigans while he enjoys his meal up as a bad job, Sar lets his spoon sink. “ _What._ ”

Timmns mouth works through another false start of an argument in the making. Going by his glower the poor soup has given insult to all of his ancestors, or whatever Jedi worship instead of sensible things.

This is becoming beyond ridiculous. It's a good thing _one_ of them is a functional adult.  
With a bored flip of his cutlery and a mild touch of Force application Sar flings one of his maybe-shrimp right at Timmns' weird forehead tattoo. The Jedi is so busy brooding he almost nails him, too. So close.

A yelp and some flailing later Somminick is apologizing profusely to an analyst at the next table over while Sar is trying not to laugh his ass off. Suns and stars, the look on his _face._

“Force, Sar, are you five?”

“I’m young at heart.” The Sith’s mouth curls in a half-smirk that never fails to drive his Jedi to exasperation. Today, it doesn’t do the trick. Yon knows his co-worker too well by now to miss the spark of real irritation. His mirth sours right quick. “Now that you’ve found your tongue, are you going to tell me what’s up?”

“I just- I can’t believe- He- and you- I-“ Eloquent _._ “ _Please tell me you’re not taking him back._ ”

The words tumble out with all the condensed emotion of someone failing to employ their primary coping method and hit Sar where he’s already smarting. He has been as good a sport about the whole mess as he can manage. That doesn’t mean he’s _happy_ with it. He’s pissed.

But what’s going on between Theron and him is just that. Between them.

“So _what_ if I am?”

A table away a cohort of sages flinches as Timmns’s presence flares. Being caught in the backwash isn’t unlike tipping your fingertips into a boiling pot. The Mirialan’s blue eyes flash yellow, there and gone.

By all the little gods, when did he turn him into the emotionally stable, responsible half of this pairing? Sar did not sign up for this. He’d like to log a complaint, seriously.

“ _Somminick._ ”

The Jedi catches himself. His expression smooths out into inscrutability.

As someone who prides himself on having spent the better part of three years cataloguing his weaknesses, Yon knows that doesn’t mean shit. If you want to check how he feels about something, you need to watch for his breathing pattern. Like this one: Deep, slow, rhythmic. Sure fire way to tell he’s about to blow his top.

“Yeesh. What crawled up your shebs and died?”

Slowly the hardened shell of cramped emotion begins to flake away from his friend’s aura. Sar manfully suppresses a shudder. Lightsider bantha-shit. He’ll never get used to it.

The rigid line of Timmns’ shoulders sinks a little. “What he did… I don’t like it.”

Now that quiet confession is an understatement right up there with Darth Ravage’s mild disapproval of non-human species. Overprotective fool-Jedi.

It is within the realm of the possible that Sar’s answering glower is a bit more grouchy than incensed. “He did what he had to do. I figured _you_ would understand that.”

Low blow. True enough, though. _Logically_ there’s nothing Yon would fault Theron for but thinking isn’t always feeling. Actually, it rarely is. It’s almost as if that’s the reason they are _two entirely different concepts._

By the faint grimace Timmns is pulling the point is made. Force save him, look at him promoting peace, harmony and common sense. Sar is so done with this week and it’s _primeday_.

“Are we good?”

Somminick takes a deep breath. Where his presence brushes against the Sith’s it seems to shake itself down before it settles, solid once more. “Yes. My apologies.”

“It’s fine. Finish your damned bloodsoup before it turns into jello.”

“… my what?”

 

 


End file.
